Gospel Story Finder

“Mom!” Lizzie shouted. “Max keeps tickling me! Even when I told him not to.”
“I do not!” Max shouted back. “I only tickled her a little bit. And she was poking me!”
“Kids!” Mom called down the hall. “I thought we were going to build a blanket fort. Stop fighting and come help.”
Lizzie darted away and ran to the family room. But Max was still grumpy.
Why is Lizzie such a tattletale? he wondered as he dragged his feet. Tickling’s fun, isn’t it? Besides, Lizzie always pokes me, and I don’t like that either.
When Max got to the family room, Mom had already pulled out a pile of blankets. He reached for his favorite yellow one, but Lizzie grabbed it first.
He yanked it out of her hands. “That’s mine!”
“Give it back!” Lizzie snatched up a pillow and hit him on the arm.
“Stop!” yelled Max. But Lizzie just whacked him on the other arm.
“Whoa, whoa, kids!” said Mom. “This isn’t how we build a fort.” She sat down on a couch cushion on the floor and pulled Max and Lizzie down next to her. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”
Max looked behind Mom and glared at Lizzie. Then he took a sort-of deep breath.
Mom put her arms around Max and Lizzie. “If someone’s doing something you don’t like and they don’t stop, how does that make you feel?”
“Not good,” said Lizzie quietly.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “Poking and tickling and pillow fights are only fun when everyone’s having fun. We respect each other by stopping when we’re asked to stop.”
“But it’s just tickling,” said Max.
“Well, it might just be tickling to you. But it might really bother Lizzie,” said Mom. “Heavenly Father gave us each amazing bodies to take care of and protect. And that means it’s OK to say ‘stop!’”
“So no more poking?” Lizzie asked.
“I hate being poked!” Max said to Mom. “What if we made a new family rule? When someone doesn’t want to be touched and says ‘stop,’ we stop right away.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mom said. “What do you think, Lizzie?”
Lizzie smiled. “I like it, especially if that means no tickling too.”
“Good,” said Mom. “If someone’s touching you, and you don’t like it, you can tell them no.”
“Even if you are the one bothering us?” Max grinned.
“Yup. Even if it’s me or Dad or Lizzie or a friend—stop means stop. And if they don’t listen and touch you anyway, you can tell me or Dad right away.”
“But isn’t that tattling?” Lizzie asked.
“It’s not tattling,” Mom said. “And you should tell even if the other person says not to.”
“Does this mean I don’t have to hug Aunt Mindy when she comes?” Lizzie asked. “She hugs too tight, and I don’t like it.”
Mom smiled. “Yeah, Mindy’s hugs are pretty strong. You can just wave goodbye instead and say ‘no thank you’ if she wants to hug. It’s OK. There are people I don’t like to hug either.”
Max made his eyes look big and sad. “Does that mean you don’t like hugging us?”
Mom just laughed and pulled Lizzie and Max into a big hug. “No, silly, you are my very favorite people to hug. Now let’s finish our fort!”
They stood the couch cushions up to make walls. Then they pulled over the kitchen chairs and draped blankets across them. Lizzie and Max crawled inside and pushed another cushion into the entrance to make a door.
Lizzie smiled and reached out to poke Max.
“Stop,” Max said, and Lizzie’s finger stopped right in front of him. He grinned and stuck his finger out, ready to poke her back. “OK. Now go.”

Several years ago a dear friend, who is a descendant of Hyrum Smith, asked if I would help him research the teachings of Hyrum. Though not a descendant myself, I readily agreed to help.

In February 2000, because of my research, I received an invitation to the family celebration of Hyrum's 200th birthday. Many hundreds of Hyrum's descendants gathered in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square. Elder M. Russell Ballard, Hyrum's great-great-grandson attended and President Gordon B. Hinckley made a surprise appearance as well.

As I looked around at all those descendants of Hyrum Smith, I wondered about the research I had been asked to do. Why me? With all those descendants, why should I be asked to do the work? In the midst of my contemplation, an unmistakable voice whispered to my soul, "Because you are willing."

Looking back, I now see that message as typical of Hyrum's life. In fact, I came to feel that it was Hyrum's voice.

In 1946, the young researcher Arthur Hasler was hiking along a mountain stream near his boyhood home when he had an experience that led to an important discovery about how fish find their way back to their birth streams.
Hiking up a mountain, yet out of sight of his favorite childhood waterfall, Hasler was suddenly brought back to a forgotten memory. He said, “As a cool breeze, bearing the fragrance of mosses and columbine, swept around the rocky abutment, the details of this waterfall and its setting on the face of the mountain suddenly leapt into my mind’s eye.”
These smells rekindled his childhood memories and reminded him of home.
If smells could trigger such memories for him, he reasoned that perhaps smells could be as evocative for salmon who, after years of being in the open ocean, return to the exact stream of their birth to spawn.
Based on this experience, Hasler, together with other researchers, went on to demonstrate that salmon remember the very scents that would help them navigate thousands of miles to find their way back home from the sea.

Looking at the Grand Canyon rim far above filled my mind with anything but ease. I was with my dad and six other kids from my ward. We left our camp in the bottom of the Grand Canyon at dusk to avoid the heat of the Arizona sun as we climbed out. My pack was lighter than it had been hiking in, and Dad had lovingly given first aid to my blistered feet with moleskin, so I was feeling fairly capable of handling the hike ahead.
After two miles, we reached a small Indian reservation as darkness fell. After a rest break, we filled our canteens, dug out our flashlights, did some general regrouping, and resumed our trek.
As the night wore on, fatigue and aching muscles were not the only causes of my problems. I had learned to deal with physical exhaustion in competitive swimming. There were times when swimming one more length seemed impossible, yet I could do it because I knew that it was only one more lap. But to continue hiking without knowing how far I’d gone or how far I had left to go was entirely demoralizing.
We walked for four hours. My flashlight carved a hole in the blackness just large enough to show my dad’s shoes and the trail’s edge. There was no moon to see by, and nothing to look at on either side. It reminded me of the nightmare I have where I run as hard and fast as I can but get nowhere. At that moment I hated that canyon more than I have ever hated anything. I felt as though it was something personal, as if the canyon were gloating at my struggle to escape.
I never would have made it out of that canyon without my dad. Watching his feet, I methodically placed my own in his tracks. We stopped to rest more often than he needed; and while I drank the water he carried, he quietly lashed my bedroll to his pack. At one point, after stopping to share what little water was left, I somehow became separated from my dad by a few people. I could no longer see his shoes or hear his voice. I was frantic. Holding back the tears, I stumbled ahead until I resumed my place behind him. Slowly I regained my composure.
I suppose it was because of my weakened physical state that the last few miles of this monotonous journey seemed miraculous. Walking behind my father as we started our ascent of the switchbacks, I began to reflect. This was the hardest thing I had ever done, and at that point, I was not getting myself up the canyon trail. My dad was. Without his footprints to walk in, I felt lost. The side of the canyon became insurmountable without him.
The parallel became clear at that moment. Dad made the trek up the mountain so much easier just by his being there. I followed him without question. I knew he loved me and that he knew I was struggling. He wanted to get me to the top so I could look back and say, “I made it. I am here where I wanted to be. Let’s go home.”
If life is the trek up a mountain, and trials add to my humility and willingness to follow, then isn’t Father in Heaven, like my dad, there to make it easier if I but follow him? Isn’t it his great wish for me to be able to say, “I have fought the good fight. I am where I want to be for eternity. It is wonderful to be home”?

At my school there are two boys who are always bothering everybody else. Everyone is afraid of them. One time these boys were bothering some girls, and the girls were almost crying. I said a prayer within myself, and feeling very confident, I firmly told those two boys to stop bothering the girls. I didn’t feel alone or scared. They just looked at me, and although they were bigger than I was, they didn’t say a single word, and they left.
At that moment I tried to do what Jesus Christ would have done. I know that He lives and He loves me. I really like going to church, especially Primary, because I learn about the gospel.

I have a dear friend who served as a very successful bishop. During his tenure, the stake president asked a boy and a girl from each ward to visit with him about their relationship with their bishop. During the conversation, the stake president asked, “If you had a serious problem in your life, would you take it to your bishop?” Most responded that they wouldn’t. And when he asked why, their response surprised him. They said, “Our bishop seems too righteous.” To the credit of my friend, his youth replied: “Not our bishop.”

With deep admiration I have studied the experiences of the prophet Nephi, especially admiring the perseverance and discipline with which he built a ship. I have come to appreciate that there was a wise purpose for the Lord to command him to do so.
When President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited Guatemala in 1997, his counsel that especially penetrated my heart was the simple encouragement to hold family home evening. Moved by our prophet’s words, my wife, four children, and I met and set a goal that we would “build a ship called family home evening.” We knew the effort it would require but also realized that the Lord had a wise purpose for asking us to do so.
Years and hundreds of home evenings later, our family home evening ship has grown with our family. And we have experienced just what President Hinckley promised. From these small gatherings—held regularly and with perseverance—something wonderful has come. Love for parents has grown. Love between brothers and sisters has increased. And our love for Heavenly Father and the Savior has been magnified. Appreciation has come into our hearts for what is simple and good. (See Gordon B. Hinckley, “Some Lessons I Learned as a Boy,” Ensign, May 1993, 54.)
Rony Saúl García Méndez, Guatemala

When I was about eleven, something wonderful happened to my family. My parents decided to start going to church. A few years later, my family traveled to Salt Lake City to be sealed in the temple. It was a very cold day in January, snowy and foggy. The temple was strikingly beautiful. For some reason, I remember its engraved doorknobs. I also remember walking into the beautiful sealing room and seeing my family, aunts, uncles, and family friends. It was so wonderful to have everyone there!

While translating the Book of Mormon, Joseph and Oliver encountered numerous passages regarding baptism and authority. Joseph had previously been told that “the Lord [would] give the holy priesthood to some.”3 On May 15, 1829, Joseph and Oliver retreated to a secluded spot in a nearby sugar maple grove “to inquire of the Lord, by prayer, His will concerning me.”4
As they prayed, the voice of the Redeemer spoke peace to them “while the veil was parted and the angel of God came down clothed with glory, and delivered the anxiously looked for message, and the keys of the Gospel of repentance” (Joseph Smith—History 1:71, note). The angel introduced himself as John, “the same that is called John the Baptist in the New Testament, and that he acted under the direction of Peter, James and John” (Joseph Smith—History 1:72).
Joseph and Oliver knelt as the resurrected John placed his hands upon their heads and conferred on them the Aaronic Priesthood, “which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:69; see also Doctrine and Covenants 13:1). They were promised that additional priesthood authority would be conferred upon them “in due time.” Joseph was named “the first Elder of the Church, and he (Oliver Cowdery) the second” (Joseph Smith—History 1:72). They were also instructed to baptize one another—Joseph to baptize Oliver first and then Oliver to baptize Joseph.
At some point that day, the two “repaired to the water” along the banks of the Susquehanna River to be baptized. They “were forced to keep secret the circumstances of having received the Priesthood and [their] having been baptized, owing to a spirit of persecution which had already manifested itself in the neighborhood” (Joseph Smith—History 1:74). The river served as a main thoroughfare for commerce and transportation during the spring floods, with a steady flow of watercraft. It is possible that Joseph and Oliver waited until after dusk or took advantage of higher waters and found a more secluded spot on the floodplain.5
After baptizing each other, Joseph ordained Oliver to the Aaronic Priesthood. Oliver then ordained Joseph as the angel had commanded them. President Joseph Fielding Smith taught that it was necessary to reconfirm the initial ordination received under the hands of John the Baptist following their baptisms to “reseal those blessings in the proper order.”6

The youth of the Kitchener Ward, Brampton Ontario Stake, performed a special service project at the Doon Pioneer Village, a community museum. They helped prepare the facility for the spring opening by scrubbing buggies, sweeping out the various buildings, and dusting all the nooks and crannies in the general store.
Besides getting dusty, the youth enjoyed trying on old-time costumes. Their project saved the community the cost of hiring others to do the work. The local newspaper covered the event, and the curator and foreman of the village were impressed with and appreciative of the amount of work the youth accomplished. The morning was concluded with a picnic in the old town hall.

In April, the branch start ed a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my same age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year—we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school- and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

What’s so unique about this game? It doesn’t seem that different. Looking around, you’d think it was just like any other junior college basketball game, played anywhere in the country on any given night.
The gym is about half full. Cheerleaders bounce and shout before a crowd that dosen’t pay much attention. Oh, the crowd cheers, but only when the player of their choice does something right or wrong. On the floor, two teams of average ability are racing up and down the court, exchanging the lead every now and then.
Is it the fact that football star Trevor Matich, fresh from the Super Bowl, has raced nonstop from Boston to Sacramento to catch this game? All right, maybe that makes it a little out of the ordinary. But there is something else unusual about the game. It’s a miracle that Dever Matich, Trevor’s 19-year-old brother, is playing at all tonight. Just a little over a year ago, Dever Matich was involved in a game accident that left the promising young basketball star blind.
Trevor went a few extra miles because of that game, too. It was near the end of his last season as star football center at BYU. The Cougars had been ranked number one in the nation and were practicing for the Holiday Bowl when he heard about his brother’s accident. Trevor, a returned missionary from Mexico, said adios to Provo, hopped in his car, and headed straight for Sacramento.
What he found when he got there broke his heart. In the first tournament game of Dever’s senior basketball season, Dever got jabbed in both eyes so hard that he fell to the floor in shock. He was lucky he made it to the hospital at all. His blood pressure had plunged so low he was very near death.
The doctors restored his heart rate, but they made no promises about his vision. Both retinas had been badly torn, and Dever’s family was told he would be lucky to ever see again, let alone play basketball.
Trevor was devastated. “Why couldn’t it be me?” he wondered. “I’ve already had my time in the spotlight. But Dever is just beginning. Why couldn’t it be me?”
The family’s home teachers came and gave a blessing to Dever, which offered considerable consolation to all of them—almost more consolation than they felt comfortable offering. They were inspired to say that Dever would recover completely, contrary to what the doctors had said.
The next morning Dever underwent laser surgery. The medical staff was delighted with the success but still gave Dever a good month before he could return to school and twice that amount of time before he could pick up a basketball.
His recovery, however, was incredible. Within a few days, Dever was up and around, being led by Trevor, to attend his team’s tournament championship game. Although Dever couldn’t see, Trevor gave him a play-by-play account, and Dever was more eager than ever to get back on the court.
When Trevor saw that Dever’s recovery was progressing so well, he returned to Provo, the Cougars, and a Holiday Bowl victory. It didn’t surprise him a bit to learn that less than three weeks after the accident, Dever was back in the game, his vision improved from 20/20 to 20/16.
It really does make this junior college basketball game a little out of the ordinary when you realize that if it weren’t for the power of the priesthood, one of the players would be listening from the bleachers. But there’s yet another unique aspect of the event.
That’s the unity that flows between these two brothers, who are about six years and an entire continent apart.
“He’s my best friend,” says Trevor of Dever.
“He’s so much more than just a brother,” says Dever of Trevor.
No matter what the scoreboard says when the final buzzer sounds, you’d have a hard time finding a closer game. Dever and Trevor Matich play the closest game in town.

Jana Morrell is poised and ready. She inches toward home plate with a bat resting comfortably on her shoulder. She stares down the pitcher, who in this case happens to be her older sister Jodie. At first base, another sister, Jill, is waiting. In the outfield is Jana’s father and her older brother, Jason. Waiting on deck is Jana’s mom. Dinner has been served and eaten. Now it’s time for baseball.
Jana lets the first pitch go by. “Outside,” she says. Since there’s no umpire, they all take her word. Jodie winds up and delivers the next pitch, which Jana fouls off. The count is one ball and one strike, but in this game, it doesn’t even matter. No one keeps track of the count, and there is no striking out. You bat until you hit, which Jana intends to do.
When the next pitch is delivered, Jana makes contact and sends the ball rolling toward Jodie. Jana takes off for first base, going as fast as she can. Jodie gets to the ball and throws it to a waiting Jill. Jana beats the throw and is safe. She then leans back in her specially made cart and smiles. Instead of running to first base, Jana “pedaled” with her hands to get down the baseline.
“I know when we play baseball, it makes Jana feel good knowing she can do the things we do,” says Jill, 14. “We don’t play the games for the competition.” Obviously, who wins and loses isn’t the point of the Morrells’ backyard baseball games. Playing together as a family is.

I think of such a man I once knew, not a member of the Church. He was a graduate of a great university. His potential was unlimited. As a young man with an excellent education and a tremendous opportunity, he dreamed of the stars and moved in their direction. In the company that employed him in those early years, he was promoted from one responsibility to another, each with improved opportunity over the last. Before many years passed, he was in the top echelon of his company. But those promotions brought him into the cocktail circuit. He could not handle it, as so many others cannot. He became an alcoholic, the victim of an appetite he could not control. He sought help but was too proud to discipline himself in the regimen imposed upon him by those who tried to assist him.

He went down like a falling star, tragically burning out and disappearing in the night. I made inquiry of one friend after another, and finally learned the truth of his tragic end. He, who had begun with such high aim and impressive talent, had died on skid row in one of our large cities. Like Peter of old, he had felt certain of his strength and of his capacity to live up to his potential. But he had denied that capacity; and I am confident that as the shadows of his failure closed around him, again like Peter, he must have gone out and wept bitterly.

It was a warm, sunny day in Shìlín, Taipei, Taiwan, and my companion, Sister Verhagen, and I were riding our bikes to visit a member. As usual, the traffic was congested and busy. Cars, motor scooters, and bikes filled the streets, heading in many directions.
I rode, as I always did, close to the shoulder of the road so other vehicles could pass by. Suddenly, I crashed and was thrown to the ground. After looking up, I saw a man who kept repeating he was sorry. Apparently, he had been in his parked car on the side of the road. When he opened his door to get out, I crashed into it. I did not see him, and he did not see me.
When I looked down at my right leg, I saw the point of impact. My leg had a large indentation and was swollen and blue. An ambulance that had been close behind us stopped, examined me, and took me directly to the hospital. My leg was examined and X-rayed to see if it was broken. The man with whom I had been in the accident also came to the hospital to see if I was OK.
While waiting for the results of the X-ray, Sister Verhagen and I talked to the man, Chung Wei. He repeatedly asked me how I was and apologized for the situation. I apologized too and told him I was happy that only my leg was injured.
We learned that Chung Wei was a college student studying the violin. After talking with him for a while, we said, “We don’t want to pressure you, but if you’d like to hear our message, we’d love to schedule a time for you to meet with the elders.” He paused for a moment and then agreed. We exchanged information and set a time for him to meet with the elders.
The results of my X-ray came back. Luckily, my leg was not broken. It just hurt a lot and looked ugly.
Later that week Elder Criddle told me that he and his companion had met with Chung Wei. The lesson had gone well. A couple weeks later I found out that he had attended church twice and was planning to be baptized. I was so happy and excited.
On April 27, 2002, Chung Wei was baptized, the newest member of the Tien Mu Ward. I was not able to attend his baptism because I was transferred, but I heard the baptism went well.
Later I saw the missionary, Elder Packer, who had given Chung Wei his baptismal interview. Elder Packer asked him why he started hearing the discussions and decided to be baptized. Chung Wei told him he was impressed by Sister Verhagen’s and my attitude toward him. Since we were kind to him and not angry because of the accident, he said he knew this must be the true Church. Later, during the discussions, he was able to feel the Spirit and build his testimony.
I am so grateful Chung Wei was prepared. I’m happy he followed the promptings of the Spirit, was baptized, and now has the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I didn’t know Heavenly Father was placing Chung Wei in my path that day. I didn’t know he was prepared to hear the gospel. But I do know we always need to be disciples of Christ and try to act as He would act. I know we need to share the gospel with those we come in contact with because we never know whom the Lord has prepared to hear the gospel.

President Heber J. Grant told the story of two men who had quarreled about business dealings. They came to President John Taylor and asked him to settle the matter. President Taylor consented, but said: “‘Brethren, before I hear your case, I would like very much to sing one of the songs of Zion for you.’
“Now President Taylor was a very capable singer, and interpreted sweetly and with spirit, our sacred hymns. He sang one of our hymns to the two brethren. Seeing its effect, he remarked that he never heard one of the songs of Zion but that he wanted to listen to one more, and so asked them to listen while he sang another. Of course, they consented. They both seemed to enjoy it.”
Then President Taylor sang a third and a fourth hymn. When he finished, the two men “were melted to tears, got up, shook hands, and asked President Taylor to excuse them … for taking up his time. They then departed without his even knowing what their difficulties were” (Improvement Era, September 1940, page 522).

“I’m going to be honest,” Tyreece says. “The only reason I wanted to become a member was to be with a girl.” He was 17 when he met her and had no idea that their growing friendship would change his life.
At first, she hesitated to tell Tyreece that she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—she worried he might unfairly judge her. Instead, his reaction was: “Oh yeah? So how do you become a member?” This led to an in-depth discussion about the gospel of Jesus Christ and the standards that Latter-day Saints try to live by. Then she explained her own commitment that she would only marry a returned missionary.
“I’ll do it,” was Tyreece’s immediate reply. He decided then and there that he would join the Church and serve a mission. She was worth it.
The very next day, he went missionary hunting. “You know how missionaries hunt for nonmembers or less-active members?” he explains. “I was hunting for missionaries—looking for them.” Tyreece started by asking his schoolmates and discovered that one of his friends, Siale Aloua, was a member of the Church. Siale confirmed that Tyreece should definitely talk to the missionaries, but in the meantime, he was happy to answer any questions Tyreece had.
One day, while heading home from school, Tyreece spotted, far in the distance, two young men in white shirts, walking together down the road. “Straightaway I ran after them!” Just as Tyreece was catching up, the missionaries entered a house. “So, I waited outside, across the road, for nearly an hour just to talk to them.”
When the missionaries finally emerged from the house, Tyreece rushed over and introduced himself, then told them he wanted to join their Church. The missionaries were understandably stunned and excited, but they told Tyreece that he had a lot to learn first. Less than 24 hours later, they taught him the first missionary discussion at a nearby park.
“I really wanted that lesson, ASAP, because the only thing on my mind was to become a returned missionary. So, I was trying to become a member as fast as I could.” But things didn’t work out the way he hoped. Heavenly Father had a different plan.
Around this time, Tyreece’s relationship with his parents was difficult, and he acknowledges his part in the problem. “I was like, talking back, disrespectful and all that, and my parents threatened to kick me out because they couldn’t handle me.”
When Tyreece returned home from his first lesson with the missionaries, he found all his belongings strewn about. “That’s how bad my parents wanted to get rid of me,” he says. But he thought about the pamphlet the missionaries had just given him about the gospel of Jesus Christ; and remembered the invitation they had extended to him: to go home and pray to Heavenly Father. Instead of reacting to the circumstances, Tyreece says, “I just ignored it all and I just did a prayer.”
He immediately felt the Holy Spirit. The feeling came with a sense of clarity, even at such an unsettling time for him. He stayed with a friend for a few days, then decided to reach out to the missionaries, to explain his home situation and ask for advice. Within five minutes, the missionaries found him board with a family in their ward. It was then that Tyreece knew in his heart that Heavenly Father is real, and that he could put all his trust and faith in Him.
“I ended up staying with the family for a while,” Tyreece says. During his time with them, he continued to receive lessons from the missionaries, participated in the Church’s youth and then young single adult programmes, and was able to learn the routines of a Latter-day Saint home. He began to truly study the scriptures, and when he discovered the Lord’s commandment to honour our parents, Tyreece knew he had to make things right with his own family.
He and his parents started talking again and slowly rebuilt their relationship. His mother even started attending Church with him—she wanted to know the cause of her son’s change of heart. Around this time, Tyreece witnessed his friend Siale prepare for and be called to serve in the Brisbane Australia Mission. His testimony of the Church continued to grow and to strengthen. He just knew that all the blessings pouring into his life came from his choice to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.
Over a year after his first meeting with the missionaries, with his parents in attendance to support him, Tyreece entered the waters of baptism and became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is currently preparing to serve a mission, but more importantly, Tyreece can confidently declare: “Even though I started this journey for someone else, my testimony of the gospel is now my own.”
Tyreece’s progress in the Church has not gone unnoticed. At the end of 2022, he was asked to speak at the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake conference, where he bore his testimony:
“I know this Church is true. I know that when your faith in Heavenly Father is strong, He will bless you and your family for all eternity. I know that when you follow Heavenly Father’s commandments, He will guide you and your family to the right path . . . I have seen it with my own eyes and through experience. Now I want to help guide families towards Heavenly Father, so they can be together forever for all eternity.”

Our ward’s young women recently visited our local Family History Center. Our goal is to learn to gather family names to take to the temple. We went with our family group sheets and pedigree charts in tow. The staff was so helpful and answered all our questions. The young women learned to use the PAF program and look for ancestors on the FamilySearch site. They are all very excited about connecting with their ancestors and learning more about their families. While still at the Family History Center, the girls were planning the next time they would get together to help each other do research.
Stacie V., Utah

Joseph F. Smith was one of the youngest missionaries to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was only fifteen years old when he was called to preach the gospel to the people of the Hawaiian Islands.
This mission call came at a difficult time in Joseph F.’s life. His father, Hyrum, a brother of the Prophet Joseph Smith, had been killed in Carthage Jail when Joseph F. was only five years old. His mother, Mary Fielding Smith, died in the Salt Lake Valley when he was thirteen, and he felt alone and frightened.
To comfort him, the Lord blessed Joseph F. with a beautiful dream soon after his mother died. He dreamed that when his life was over, his beloved mother and father, President Brigham Young, and the Prophet Joseph Smith met him in heaven. They put their arms around him, and he could feel how much they loved him. It made him feel peaceful and safe inside.
As Joseph F. began his mission to Hawaii, his mission president, Francis Hammond, gave him a blessing promising him that he would become “a mighty man.” He blessed him that “the spirit of his father, Hyrum, the martyr, would rest upon him.”
Joseph F. served a very successful mission in Hawaii. He was quite poor, however, since he had no family to send him money. He sometimes went for several days without food, but the Hawaiian people often shared with him.
After nearly four years in Hawaii, Joseph F. returned home. One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, “We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!” The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
Joseph F. stood tall and said, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!”
The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, “Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.” He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions.
For the next sixty-one years, Joseph F. Smith’s life was full of service to the church he defended so proudly that morning by the campfire. At age twenty-seven, he was ordained an Apostle, and he served as a counselor to four Church presidents: Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow. In 1901, Joseph F. Smith was ordained the sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He served as President for seventeen years, until his death in 1918.

One Sunday I was substituting in a Primary class of particularly rambunctious five-year-olds. The lesson was about love. We began by singing the song “Jesus Said Love Everyone.”
Afterward I commented, “Jesus loves everyone, and we must do that, too.”
Robbie challenged me. “Oh, no, he doesn’t love everyone—he doesn’t love the bad people!”
“Yes, Robbie, he loves everyone.”
“He doesn’t love the robbers.”
“Even the robbers.”
Robbie thought a minute and said, “I know some people he didn’t love—he didn’t love the men who killed him!”
At that point I told Robbie about the Crucifixion.
“When Jesus hung on the cross,” Robbie interrupted me, “did they really put nails in his hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that must have hurt.”
“Yes, it did. Even after that happened, as Jesus hung on the cross in great pain, he said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34.) Jesus was speaking about the men who had placed him on the cross. He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. Yes, Robbie, Jesus even loved these people, and he forgave them.”
Robbie looked at me, furrowed his brow, and said, “I’m going to ask my dad if Jesus really did say that.”
After class was over, I was walking into sacrament meeting with my family, and I felt a tug on my dress. It was Robbie.
“Sister Wright, my dad says you’re right.”
The tenderness of this experience was that Robbie went from challenging the idea that Jesus could love everyone to a sweet trust of Christ’s unconditional love.